


Ursus Arctos

by OrdinaryWordsmith



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy, Voyná i mir | War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy, War and Peace (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dinner, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Married Couple, Married Life, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-08 13:04:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15931010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrdinaryWordsmith/pseuds/OrdinaryWordsmith
Summary: Pierre and Natasha just want a quiet evening in a fancy restaurant enjoying married life, but some unexpected visitors show up (two guesses who) :) . Some residual feelings resurface and angst ensues. My man Pierre shows off just how much of a Russian bear he can be...





	Ursus Arctos

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! This is the very first fan fic I have ever written, so please be kind :) 
> 
> I wrote this a while ago as a stand alone, but I have my own ideas about the world these characters live in, what their pasts together are etc. Of course individual interpretations are welcome! 
> 
> I'm not sure about the characterisation here, but I had this idea and it would't go away until I wrote it down so here we go!

“Reservation for Bezukhov,” said Pierre. His high-status profile had granted he and Natasha a booking at a fancy new French restaurant. Although he was always embarrassed when his money got him unasked for perks, he was glad to spend some time with Natasha; they had both been so busy lately. 

“Right this way, sir, ma’am.” A tall, minutely groomed steward lead the couple to an extravagant staircase which brought them to a large banquet hall full of the well-to-do. Pierre and Natasha nodded politely to some acquaintances seated at candle-lit tables- the kind of acquaintances one naturally makes when one is wealthy. But tonight was not about socialising. Tonight was about quality time.

The steward showed them to a quiet, private room through an elaborate dark wood door. The chairs had soft leather seats and the table was topped with a red velvet cloth. A large sliding window obscured any outsider’s view of the diners, but let Natasha and Pierre see the city in all its majesty. After dinner, Pierre fully intended to examine a beautiful view with a warming hot chocolate on the balcony beyond the glass. Perhaps he would look down on the city too. 

It had snowed all day- Pierre still had some flakes in the fur of his collar- and it had settled on the city like dough rising in an overfilled bread tin. The lights from the skyscrapers and shop windows gave off an ethereal but striking effect from the couple’s vantage point in the sky. Nothing could touch them here. 

As the stewards were helping the pair into their seats, Pierre couldn’t help but notice the glistening necklace that hung so delicately between Natasha’s collar bones. The low cut of her black dress emphasised her long neck and delicate shoulders. She wore her hair up, something she only did on special occasions. Pierre followed the soft curls around her head with his eyes, remembering every time he had had the privilege to touch them. He was always astounded that Natasha looked so effortlessly enchanting, while he could never seem comfortable in his own skin. 

“Sir?” asked a female steward. 

“Yes? Yes, sorry. Thank you very much,” blushed Pierre, embarrassed at having been caught in the act of admiring his wife. Natasha just smiled knowingly at him. 

“What were you looking at?” she asked him after they had been left alone with the menus. 

“You know very well what I was looking at,” said Pierre, hiding behind his leather menu. It was true. Pierre always had a certain look of childlike disbelief about him when he considered his wife. It was a look Natasha knew well.

“You look wonderful too, dear.” She reached to caress his wrist, her sparkling engagement ring reflecting off his flat silver cufflinks. Pierre, rich as he was, never liked to spend money on himself- unless he was expected to have the latest cut of jacket for some event or other, and, even then, he was reluctant. But when Natasha had accepted him, he insisted on buying her the biggest ring she desired. Natasha’s style in jewellery wasn’t the most extravagant, but she soon realised that, while Pierre would be happy with whatever kind of ring she wanted, he also wanted to spare no expense on his priceless bride. And besides- it was a very nice ring. 

Pierre looked at her over the menu and the rims of his glasses. “It’s just your infectious charm,” he replied. 

“Well, I think it’s the candle light. It so becomes you,” she complimented. Even from behind the leather-bound book, she could tell he was blushing. 

“Thank you, my dear,” came the deep reply. His voice always lowered a semi-tone or so when he felt humble. It was only one of the reasons Natasha complimented him so often. “Shall we order water for the table, or do you want something a little more French?” 

“Water’s fine,” she said returning her gaze to the menu. There was so much to choose from, and it was all so bizarre. Since becoming a Bezukhov she had attended many an elite soiree and tasted many exotic and unusual dishes, but this was something else entirely. “I have no idea what this menu is trying to tell me,” she said. 

“Neither do I, to be honest,” replied Pierre. “Shall we just get the chef’s recommendation and if it’s awful we can get a burger on the way home?” 

“We shall,” she replied happily. They both set their menus down and Pierre leaned back in his chair, looking out at the view. Now that there was no barrier between them, Natasha could fully appreciate Pierre in his dining attire. She had managed to get him into a dark blue velvet jacket with black on the cuffs and collar. 

While he wasn’t thrilled about drawing attention, he had recently come to accept the fact that, as he was of large stature, he was going to be noticed no matter what. Having made this monumental step in personal development, he had become more willing to let Natasha suggest new outfits for him. Although she knew her husband couldn’t see it, he looked so suave and elegant tonight. She loved it when he wore jackets and cardigans. When she wrapped her arms around him beneath the outer layer of his clothes she felt so safe and warm. 

She noticed the golden and auburn hairs running through his dark beard as they caught the candle light. She knew he loved the way she stroked it and curled it between her fingers with his head on her lap. Seeing him in this light, she longed for the sensation herself. She was roused from her musings as Pierre turned to her. 

“I hope the cabs will still be running by the time we finish here,” he said. “It’s starting to snow again.” 

“Don’t think on it,” Natasha suggested. “I’m sure we can find a hotel or something if we can’t make it home tonight.” 

“Now, there’s an idea,” Pierre replied suggestively. 

Just at that moment, a waiter knocked on the door and entered, asking for their order. “And it’s Bezukhov, isn’t it, sir?” the waiter enquired. 

“That’s right,” Pierre replied. 

“Ok, I’ll just put your name on the door, so we can get the order right for you. If you need anything, please just ring the bell by the door, and we will have someone with you momentarily.” 

“That’s very kind,” said Natasha, enchanting the waiter with her smile. 

The waiter was only gone a few minutes when the door swung open, revealing a tall woman in an emerald dress to match her eyes. Dark hair framed her splendid face, and her throat sparkled like a clear night. 

“Helene?” cried Pierre in alarm. 

“Pierre!” squealed Helene, throwing her arms in the air, causing her fur shawl to fall to the plush carpet. 

“What a surprise, Helene,” said Natasha, with mock delight. She had last met the woman during her messy divorce from Pierre. The pair were not natural friends, at least not anymore. 

“Helene, what are you doing here? Are you alright?” asked Pierre, standing. He noticed that Helene seemed to be having some difficulty navigating her delicate heels over the thick carpet. 

“I just wanted to see how my darling ex-husband was- oh! Hello, heart-breaker! You know my brother is still pinning for you?” She gasped as if she has just been thrown into the heart of Serbia with nothing but her pearls. “I shall fetch him!” she whispered excitedly. “Anatole! Oh, my darling brother!” she cried. As she tried to turn to the door, she caught her heel on her dress and lost her balance. Luckily Pierre had a lengthy stride and reached her before she fell to the floor. She relaxed like a rag-doll in his arms. 

“Oh! My saviour!” she gasped sarcastically. “When did you find compassion?” She managed to steady herself against Pierre and slapped him hard across the face. Pierre was silent as his wife inhaled sharply from somewhere behind him. Somehow, he managed to keep his ex-wife from slipping to the floor. 

“Helene. You have had quite a night. Perhaps we should call for a porter to take you to your car,” said Pierre calmly. He indicated to Natasha that she should ring the bell by the door. She hesitated, asking him if he was alright with a caring glance. He nodded, and she went to the door. Helene had found her feet and had risen to her full height. She could almost look Pierre in the eye. He held her arms by her sides with his wide hands.

Just as Natasha reached the door, a tall man with skin like the snow falling outside the window and eyes a piercing cyan burst into the room. “Helene? You call-” Anatole’s mischievous smile turned to shock as he saw Natasha suddenly before him.

“Brother! Now the fun can really start!” Helene said with cruel glee. Pierre shook her arms once, not hard but abrupt, to indicate that she should not speak anymore. She squeaked in protest, but Pierre took no notice. He had made his peace with Helene, acknowledged that they had both done things to ruin the other. It was Helene’s delight in taunting Natasha that he took issue with. 

“Anatole!” Natasha’s voice was barely audible. The man held her elbows lightly and brought her further into the room away from the door.  
“Natasha,” Anatole breathed. “I haven’t seen you since…”

“Since you tried to manipulate her- failing to mention that she was merely an innocent pawn in your foolish games,” stated Pierre, his jaw set in a dangerous angle. Helene had started hurling slurs and saliva at him, inches from his face, but he was doing a good job of ignoring her. 

“Pierre! How are you, old man?” asked the tormentor, noticing his old friend towering over his sister. 

“Gorgeous. Please find your sister safe passage home. I suggest you go with her.” Pierre didn’t take his eyes off Helene. 

“Come, now, old man! She’s just having fun. You used to do the same-”

“Quickly,” Pierre commanded, his deep eyes fixed on Anatole’s cool stare. 

“Anatole, if you do not leave this instant, I shall call for security,” said Natasha, regaining her voice. 

“Oh, Natalie! Has becoming a Bezukhov made you feisty? How I have missed you!” Natasha looked into Anatole’s provoking gaze. Once she saw love behind his icy eyes - before she knew what that really looked like. 

She was unspeakably distraught when she discovered what Anatole had done to her. She had always been loved by everyone that met her. But Anatole… it had taken her so long to realise that what he felt for her wasn’t love, not really. By then the damage was done. She was sure he had stolen all happiness and hope from her. It was only Pierre and his diligent worrying and fussing that had brought her to back to life. In some ways almost literally. Her husband was not the only one with scars from the past.  
“I am much changed since we last met. I know who I am now, and I know what you are.”

“That doesn’t sound very nice, Natalie,” Anatole’s voice was as chilling as his eyes. “All I wanted to do was love you.”

“Take advantage of my trust, you mean. Look, that is all in the past. It is all over. Please leave me and my husband alone, now.” 

Anatole reached his long fingers behind her neck. They felt like icicles on her warm skin. Anatole had had a minor infatuation with this charming woman, but it was not lust in his heart now. He still resented Pierre for sending him away from his playground, for punishing him for having some fun. “Natalie,” he breathed. “You’re bewitching…” 

Anatole had seen Pierre hospitalise someone before- back when he was married to Helene- but that was when the old man would drink three bottles of straight vodka in one night. Anatole knew that Natasha would stop him before he could do something deserving of a punch or two. He didn’t plan on doing battle with that Russian bear of a man. He just wanted to let Pierre know that he didn’t deserve such a beauty on his arm. Not Natasha, and certainly not his sister. 

Before Natasha could push Anatole’s hand away, Pierre suddenly threw Helene over his broad shoulders. As he passed Anatole, he gave the sonorous command: “Come with me,” and barged out of the room. It only took a momentary jerk of Anatole’s arm for Pierre to distance the boy from his wife. Anatole followed the large man into the corridor out of pure shock. 

Natasha collected Helene’s shawl and hurried after them. When she next saw her husband, he was escorting a screaming and kicking Helene through the busy restaurant floor, still managing to keep her above the heads of all the elites who had decided to dine here this evening. He did, however, earn himself some disgruntled looks and gasps. 'So much for blending in tonight', she thought. 

Refusing to put the woman down, Pierre asked a steward, “Excuse me, could you call a cab for this lady and her brother?” The steward was taken aback by the kind request which juxtaposed the man’s brutish action, but he nodded and hurried away. Finally, when Helene started trying to bite him, Pierre put her down. He never released the strong hand that held her arm fast. 

“Pierre Bezukhov! How can you still treat me so cruelly? How can you hate me so!” 

Pierre’s red mouth moved dangerously close to Helene’s face. His voice was so gruff that Helene could feel each syllable vibrate against her eyelashes. “I do not hate you Helene. We simply should not be together- by any definition of the word. I hope that once you get into your cab, I will never see you again. I hope to read of you in the paper a few years from now. I hope that you marry a rich man with some title or other and I hope you will feel an iota of the happiness I share with my wife.” Pierre saw a confused look soften Helene’s intense gaze. “Now let’s get you home.” 

Pierre escorted Helene down the wide staircase while Anatole and Natasha saw to the cab. He underestimated Helene’s inebriation and walked her down the steps too quickly, causing her to stumble. 

“My apologies,” he said crouching to comfort her. “Are you alright?” Helene shook herself and sighed in frustration. 

“Pierre. Your apologies will never erase what happened between us.” Pierre was taken aback by her cutting statement, but to his shame he suspected she might be right. From the smell of her breath she really was in not state to be having this conversation, but who was he to judge. He couldn’t bring himself to reply. He offered her his arm to support her, but she pushed it aside. Shakily, she stood above him, being two steps higher than he, and looked down at him. He met her gaze without lifting his head. 

“I’m not a child!” 

“You need someone to help you to your car.” 

“This is not a kindness, Pierre! You may have wanted to control me when we were married, but you have absolutely no right to me now!” 

“I’m not-” Pierre started loudly but thought better of his outburst. This was his past, and if he was honest, Helene had every right to be angry at him just as the reverse was true. He did not have it in him to be cold to her when he could just as easily be gentle. “I’m just trying to see you safely home.” Helene smouldered menacingly in response. “I know you think me a beast,” he sighed, “and you’re right to, but let me be kind to you just once.” Helene managed the steps on her own with minimal help from Pierre, but he held his arm out in case she had need of it. 

Pierre guided the woman into the cold winter air and waited with her for the car as Natasha and Anatole joined them. 

“A nice night for it!” said Anatole. Everyone glared at him in the silence that followed, so he retracted his smile and stared awkwardly at the falling snow. 

Soon the car came round and Pierre bundled Helene into the back seats, quickly followed by Anatole. Pierre went to the driver to pay the fee. Natasha threw Helene’s fur to Anatole and slammed the door before he could say goodbye. She needn’t have worried- he was tending to his sister. 

Once the taxi had driven away, the Bezukhovs were left in the softly falling snow, catching white crystals in the curls of their hair. Pierre’s expression was blank. Natasha could see his hot breath curling in the frosty air. She reached into his jacket, the silk lining as soft as her bare arms. She gave her husband a gentle squeeze, partly to comfort him and partly to warm herself. She felt the pressure of the bridge of his nose resting on her forehead. He returned her affection with a bear-hug that lifted her off the ground. 

“I’m sorry I made such a scene, Tasha. I thought I was past that.”

“Last time I checked, Helene was the one screaming in the middle of the restaurant.” 

“I don’t think we’ll be allowed back here again any time soon.” 

“That’s ok. The food didn’t appeal to me anyway.” 

Their embrace was interrupted by the manager of the restaurant and a steward. It was the first steward that had tended to them at the start of the night. He was holding their coats. 

“Excuse me, sir, but we have to ask you to leave this establishment. We would appreciate it if you didn’t come back.” 

Pierre untangled himself from Natasha and looked at the manager. He started laughing his great reverberating laugh which caught the attention of the customers from all the way inside the restaurant. Natasha added to the symphony of her husband’s joy by giggling musically at his side. The staff had confronted them with affronted looks on their faces. Now they looked perplexed. The couple took their things and went down the icy street, hooting with delight and sliding all over the place as they went. Eventually the lovers calmed into a stroll, hand in hand through the cold night. 

“Burgers?” asked Pierre after a comfortable silence. 

“Burgers,” confirmed Natasha. “And maybe afterwards… you know that move you pulled on Helene?” 

“Yes,” Pierre replied hesitantly.

“Well, maybe you should try that move on me sometime?” Natasha rested her head on his sturdy arm, teasing him with her glittering eyes. 

“We are definitely getting a hotel room tonight,” Pierre told her.

**Author's Note:**

> All constructive criticism, comments and quires are welcome! 
> 
> The names and relationships of the characters are from Leo Tolstoy's 'War and Peace' but the story and interpretation is my own


End file.
